


Breaking Tradition

by ibreatheakaashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Office, Bad Flirting, Bickering, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreatheakaashi/pseuds/ibreatheakaashi
Summary: Bright-eyed and focused Iwaizumi Hajime, recently graduated from Journalism school hoping to make it big in Tokyo, when he gets a job at Seijoh, the largest newspaper industry, he's thrilled. What he doesn't expect is to have an unfated run-in with the CEO, unaware of who's talking to.Oikawa Tooru, the demonic boss, charming and captivating with the personality of a rich brat. But he does it well.mistakenly, Iwaizumi winds himself into the world of scandals, and what it means to be working for Seijoh.and he may have signed himself up for something that may or may not risk his whole job on the line.





	1. Breaking the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this two shot series! enjoy!

When Iwaizumi receives the call, he couldn’t be any more enthusiastic. Landing a job at the prime newspaper company in Tokyo, everyone who went to journalism school dreamed of getting internships at Aoba Johsai Spectator, or Seijoh for short. He knew colleagues who would kill for this opportunity. Honestly, Iwaizumi didn’t believe that when he stepped in the Chief’s office for the interview only weeks ago that he’d get a callback. Clearly, he’d done a fine job at impressing them, or maybe it was that the company needed young people of his generation to reign the world of scandals and daily news. 

“This is your office, you can design it to your liking.” Sugawara, the friendly advertising manager Iwaizumi had spoken over the phone said with a smile.

The box weighs heavy in his hand, as he drops it on the desk. It wasn’t much of an office, rather a cubicle surrounded by larger frosted windows bordering the neighboring offices beside him. The mahogany desk is a decent size, with drawers fitting all of his belongings. The large monitor rests on the leveled tabletop, room for a second device. The slim bookshelf attached to the hip edge of the table. There’s already acquired supplies, and he sets out the books he brought from his apartment.

“Thank you, Sugawara.” he bows, Sugawara shakes his head, cheeks pink.

“It’s my pleasure, please call me Suga.” he grins happily, leaving Iwaizumi to settle in.

Iwaizumi glances around, the office was busy. That shouldn’t be surprising, Seijoh constantly had reporters online, ready for the best piece of news, a lion ready to pounce on the weakest mouse. Easy prey, it’s called. Steady voices hushed, low and quiet as stares went his way once in blue moon. He ignored them, focusing on unpacking his things. But his dignity wouldn’t go unnoticed. Around him, Iwaizumi seemed younger than his co-workers. A twenty-three-year-old surrounded by professional journalists and photographers made Iwaizumi feel exhilarated to be working with experienced people.

Iwaizumi was often underestimated for his age, but he was not to be taken for granted. He had raw talent and ambition. It was everything companies looked for in young adults, and Iwaizumi had been lucky to catch the eye of the CEO of Seijoh.

Iwaizumi sets down the potted plant that somehow ended up in the box, placing it above on the top shelf. The pencils in his case are already sharpened, not wanting to leave  the first impression of being too loud. Yes, to an extent, he was nervous. Very nervous, they were kind enough, leaving alone Iwaizumi so far, probably too busy to pay attention to the used cubicle. His hands twitch for a cigarette in his hand, fixated on the emptiness between his fingers. He forces nausea creeping up his throat down, returning to completing the simple task ahead of him. He brushes down his tie, from getting anymore crumpled than it is. The dress code wasn’t harsh, rather lenient, men in rumpled dress shirts collared up or sleeves casually rolled up to their elbows. Pantsuits, and pencil skirts with bland boring blouses.

Tense, Iwaizumi plays with the cuffs of his blue button-down, fiddling with the wrists. If Iwaizumi was charismatic and friendly, then he’d march out his office and start introducing himself. Unfortunately, this is the part where he really needed to give off the best impression. And so far, Iwaizumi’s done nothing. So he makes himself useful by attempting to set up the large computer in front of him. He makes it past to hooking up the million of wires before slumping at the keyboard, succumbing to his horrible failure.

“Fuck.” he says glumly, twisting the abandoned pencil in his hand, flicking it with his wrist.

Maybe he should just call tech support to set the damn thing up for him.

“I’d say welcome but you’ve gotten a taste of it already.” someone says behind him, and he straightens up, spinning his chair around to meet the new voice.

A lanky figure rests against the squared edge of his cubicle, ducking down to reach Iwaizumi’s eyes. Leaning down, his boisterous hair falling over one of his eyes,  _ rooster head _ . An easy charming smile, genuine and almost pitiful.

“I can’t even set up the computer, are you here to do that?” he asks too hopeful, and the tall man throws his head back, laughing loudly.

“Tech support can do that for you, I’m taking you on your orientation.” he points thumb at his chest, and Iwaizumi forges himself to stop his eyes going a full 180 around his head.

“And who are you?” he didn’t mean to say it rudely, but it slipped from his mouth.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, the Yoda of Seijoh, I’ll be here to help find your way, young paladin.”

“Was the star wars reference really necessary?” he snorts, pushing himself out of the stuffed chair, stretching his limbs.

Standing up next to Kuroo, he realized how short he was. Iwaizumi’s height wasn’t short, but compared to him, he looked like a shrimp. He stuffed his hands into his khaki’s, that was first of the casual wear he’s seen so far. His red plaid shirt lazily tucked in his trousers, sneakers on his feet. An expensive Canon camera hung around his neck, and he uncomfortably shifted in his own clothes.

“Absolutely, I have to give off the perfect ‘senpai’ impression.” he nods, as they weave between the cubicles leading them out to the doors.

“Spare the tactics.” he retorted, and Kuroo feigned shock, clutching his hand to his pain, almost in pain.

“That hurt, kids these days.” he clicks his tongue, and Iwaizumi composed every drop of his sanity to not point out their probably the same age.

“We’re the same age- you know what, just give me the tour.” and Kuroo grins in satisfaction.

He moves on, showing Iwaizumi the ropes, taking him downstairs to the convenience shops, that he somehow managed to miss. Small boutiques and cafe are all lined up in neat rows, the smell of grounding black roast haunts his nose, and he almost asks if they could grab some. But his self-control leads to follow Kuroo, as he gives the ‘rookie’ orientation. The history of Seijoh, the boring white noises that merge in his ear. All of that crap that Iwaizumi pretends to care about while admiring the clean-cut glass that exteriors the building.

“There are fourteen floors, the top floor is dedicated to the CEO and his staff.” Kuroo mentions, he was there once, for his interview, but that was with the chief, not the CEO.

From the rumors he’s overheard, the CEO was a genius. A bloody genius, with the personality of a monster, and the face of a bachelor. His father was the ex-founder of Seijoh, passing on the company to his son, who’s raised the industry from the ashes and into Tokyo’s top newspaper establishment’s in Japan. He knew he was good, but he also heard other rumors about him. How he was a sleaze, and only cared about daddy’s money. That was an alcoholic and slept over the job. Then how’d he been able to explain the million dollars attached to his name?

“The boss is not someone to messed with, one wrong step and you’ll find you and your things freezing their asses on the front steps.” he shudders, as if he’s actually scared off.

“I’d like to meet him.” Iwaizumi chuckles, brushing off the intimidation.

“You don’t actually, only his closest personnel see him, and the chance you’ll get noticed by him is slim.” he pats his back, sympathetically.

He rolls his eyes, “sounds like a prick.”

Kuroo watches him when he says that, and grins. Unresponsive, they continue their tour. He takes through every floor, meeting many people whom he’ll be working within the future. If he had known, he would’ve brought a notepad because he breezing through one department after another.

“This is our Sports Editor Nishinoya.”

“Meet the Photographer Akaashi Keiji.”

“The graphics editor, Kenma.”

His head spins, as he scrambles to bring out a smile and shake their hands. Finally, by the time he makes his rounds, the whole office knows who he is. Thank god that part is over. It’s close to lunchtime, and he stops by his office.

“Come and get lunch with us? The ramen bar is memorable.” Kuroo insists, and kindly Iwaizumi declines.

Once Kuroo leaves his sight, threatening to take him out later tonight. He slumps back down at his desk. Happily, he finds that his monitor has been set up, and he logs into the server per instructions. They had their first board meeting tomorrow with the photographers, and so far Iwaizumi hasn’t gotten any messages on any pending requests. The waiting part was always the longest, he had to wait for an assignment, meanwhile sitting at his desk entertaining himself. This is what Seijoh was like, filled with smart-as-fuck people who he’d be competing with soon. Iwaizumi was no stranger to competition. At graduate school, students transferred to and from the United States to come and study all over Japan. Surrounded by people who worked with well-known authors, publicists, Iwaizumi knew how to win under pressure.

Hours later, he plays around with the system, getting to know the monitor, shuffling through the latest news of Seijoh. As usual, they’ve captured just what the readers want. Breaking news, latest political crap that Iwaizumi slides right past. An article intrigues him and clicks on it, leaning back his chair making himself comfortable. As he reads, his eyes shift over, reading the words delicately written that make him want to read more.  _ So that’s the true power of Seijoh. _

His hunger to write grew even more.

Time goes by fast for his first day, as lights from the cubicles start to turn off near the evening. Plans are being made, and he pushes his chair. Why waste his time here, his first meeting was tomorrow. He gathers his computer, shoving it into his messenger bag. As he stands up, the moonlight bounces against the windows, reflecting on the glass cities below. Shadows dance in the exhausting task lights.

On his way, he grabs a drink at the bar, already littered with his co-workers he’d recently seen. Joyful cheers electric in his ears, the alcohol already absorbing their insides. He wedges himself at a barstool, seating his messenger bag nearby. The empty weight aches in his hands, and he almost takes one out. The last thing he wants to do is get fired on his first day of work.  _ Dammit. _

He orders a bottle of whiskey, and the bartender hustles to get him a rocks glass and the bottle that he ordered. He fills the caramel-colored liquid to the top, before downing the whole glass in one round. Iwaizumi sighs, letting the whiskey rest at his lips. Massaging his shirt to smooth down the wrinkles, he relaxes. It was his first day and he was already tired. He couldn’t panic, only a little. The whole department including the editor would be there, and the CEO. That was a big deal for the CEO to make an appearance, and Iwaizumi couldn’t help control the butterflies grinding in his stomach.

“Make the usual, and no, do not add the soy sauce this time, my pores were never the same.” the man talking into his phone while speaking to the bartender simultaneously.

The bartender goes to work, knowingly taking the order of the stranger. He seats himself into the seat two spots away from Iwaizumi. He bears a lanyard with the company’s name engraved on the stitching, like everyone else. The man, leans on the table elbows forward, as he yips to whoever it is on the phone. And he almost feels bad for the unfortunate soul on the other line. His voice light and dismissive, but the frustration on his face, he was not someone you wanted to get mad. He swirled the chocolate velvet tendril of his hair around his finger, impatiently. Each hair perfectly arranged as if gravity put in place.

“Call Sawamura, and let the advertising duo deal with it.” with a hum, he hangs up as the bartender slides him his drink.

“Just perfect,” he says to the bartender, who laughs.

Iwaizumi refills his glass, turning away. But it looks like he’s been noticed, only the pretty stranger glances his way. He stares at him with sudden fascination. Iwaizumi ignores him, taking another sip.

“Come here often?” the stranger suddenly asks him, and Iwaizumiis forced to look his way.

His lilith fingers hung around the rim of his champagne glass, the red liquid sloshing on the inside of the glass. He tilts his head to sit back on his fist, eyes observing him. His smile is confident, and arrogant. Iwaizumi has the manifest to slap it off his face.

“It won’t work.” he says, as he stares at the whiskey bottle.

The stranger was surprised, must’ve caught him off guard. Good, “what won’t work?” he asks, but he knows.

“The whole pick-up line, no one uses that anymore.” he says breezly. And the man laughs haughty.

“Why waste one of my best pick-up lines on someone like you?” he says stiffly, flicking his wrist on the cup that sits empty. The gyoza on his plate, as he breaks apart the chopsticks, the crack splitting air.

“Why waste my breath talking to someone like you?” he retorts, and the stranger huffs, faking to be shocked.

“That hurts,....” he trails off, staring at his shirt, and Iwaizumi glares, then realizing he doesn’t know his name.

“I’m not telling you my name.” he says indignantly. And he pouts slightly, mouth suckers, hair falling over his eyes.

If he didn’t know any better he’d call him hot, but the self-important idiot would probably shove any compliment up his ass so he decides to shut his mouth. Humming under his breath the idiot, tapping his nails against the wood of the bar. The bar starts to clear out, as the office grows quieter. He checks the time on his wristwatch, reading eight.

“Getting late?” he asks, and Iwaizumi swivels his chair to remeet his eyes. Chopsticks laid in order, glass no longer filled with lush red champagne.

“I have a meeting tomorrow, I should get head out.” he mumbles, downing the rest of his whiskey. 

Throwing a few bills on the table top, he nods to the bartender who takes away his glass.

“Wouldn’t want your precious time.” he chirps waving along to Iwaizumi.

“See you soon stranger-chan!” he smiles, all teeth, loose. Narrowing down to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes.

He grabs his messenger bag, slinging it around his shoulder, and bolts out the bar. He hoped ‘soon’ wasn’t anytime soon. As far as he could tell, he was dangerous. And Iwaizumi didn’t like to play with fire.

  
  
  


But of course, in all of the works done, Iwaizumi forgot to set his alarm after getting home. So when he wakes up with the sun blinding and his alarm shut off, Iwaizumi doesn’t have the best morning.  _ Fuck, fuck _ , he cusses to himself. Nearly, tumbling out bed, falling flat on his face. He took a shower last night, so he throws on whatever he could find from the closet. He grabs a tie from the hanger, hands hasty to fumble with the knot. 

_ Fuck it, and let’s go semi-casual.  _ He throws the tie, and steps into his shoes at the doorway, a soft purr coming behind him. Asami stares at him with soft blue eyes, meowing at his leg. Shit, he forgot to feed her. He sets down his briefcase, and shakes the cat food out of the cabinets and onto her bowl. Asami purrs happily as Iwaizumi bends down to smother her ears. Her tail waves in his face, the soft fur tickling his nose.

“You spoiled brat, if you get me fired, I’ll feed you to the dogs.” he mutters, petting her gently. Obviously, he would never do that because he loves the munchkin breed too much. He’s had her since she was a kitten, with her tawny multi-patches of fur, she nuzzles her nose away from her food and in his hand.

“Later Asami.” he stands up, grabbing his bag.

The car ride wasn’t too bad, only ten minutes away from the city. He makes it with minutes to spare when he pulls into the valet parking. He parks his car, running his ID through the scanner. The machine clicks as the bar disperses and he jogs to the elevator. Stabbing a finger at the eighth floor, he checks his phone, fuck the meeting has already started. The elevator opens and he heads out, pacing down to his cubicle. He throws his things down, and swings the meeting room open. Stares all thrown in direction when he opens the door, the round table filled, and he recognizes a couple of faces.

He bows deeply, “sorry I’m late.” and he stands up, to meet those same eyes those taunting only yesterday. “Fuc-” he almost blurts out.

“The last one finally rolled out, take a seat. We’re about to start.” he says, voice silky, and he finds a seat.

Suga, starts the presentation a bunch of graphs and tables showcasing numbers. Everyone around him is taking notes, and Iwaizumi self-pities himself for forgetting his own notepad. He watches attentively as Suga leads them through a new project. Kuroo throws his legs over the table at the end of a seperate round table-top. He smugly listens with one eye open. His signature camera around his neck, long arm wrapped around his head.

“And now a word from our CEO, Oikawa Tooru.” and gracefully Oikawa stood up.

Iwaizumi’s too caught up to hear the next few words that come out of his mouth, because god he feels so embarrassed. The ceo, Oikawa Tooru, the demon boss that the whole company talked about. He felt like the idiot now, what a moron to not be able to acknowledge who he was. As Oikawa speaks, Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to look him in the eye again. Feeling the urge to clock himself with the nearest wall, resists and bothers to listen to what Oikawa has to say.

His gray vest paired with the slim gray rolled-up button down, makes everyone look underdressed. His slacks were held by an expensive belt told that he had money. With his hand on his hip, the thick papers in his hand were being passed around.

With a smile, he kindly explains the assignment. All friendly and not at all demonic. Strangely, he asked questions when asked, handled it with the maturity that a boss should have. The silly exterior was replaced by the brilliant hungry CEO that commanded them all. He couldn’t help but admire him for his professionalism.

“This is an opportunity for you spread your wings. Give me something that will impress me.” he grins conceitedly.

“Your dismissed, the headlines are coming out friday so we need them to sent to the editor by Thursday.” he calls out, as the meetings dismissed, and everyone starts to shuffle out of their seats.

“Aah, everyone except for Iwaizumi-san can leave. Iwaizumi stay back for a moment.” he freezes, as his voice is being called out.

Everyone leaves, as Oikawa turns away, going to wipe the used whiteboard with Iwaizumi rocking on his heels. He doesn’t speak, only the squeak of the lysol wipes against the board. God, is he already in trouble?

“How are you liking it here so far?” he asks, and Iwaizumi crosses his arms stubbornly refusing to give in.

“So you do know my name?” he replies, and Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

“Of course I do, I’m the one who hired you, I can also fire you right now if I wanted to.” he draws out, stepping closer.

For a second, he nearly panics with the threat. But his uncredible tone of voice leads him to believe that he’s only toying with Iwaizumi. And boy did he have no filter.

"You wouldn’t do that.” he bites out, and Oikawa hums quizzically.

“Is that a challenge?” Oikawa sits down at the head of the table, eyes greedily feeding off of Iwaizumi, waiting for an answer.

Beating him at this game was impossible, and Oikawa knew that already. So why was he so invested in making his life so miserable?

“I’m not going to get fired over arguing with a gaudy prick.” he says, grabbing his things. 

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” he squawks, and he has no time to notice the nickname.

“Don’t call me that.” he says, hoisting himself out of his seat.

On the way out, he collides with a figure outside of the sliding door. They look down, almost meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes, taller even.  Curved black bangs cutting over their eyes, midnight blue eyes stares away. His casual attire competed against his own, in a plain blazer, heaving boxes.

“Tobio-chan, where’s my latte?” Oikawa interrupts them, and he moves out of the way.

“The elevator was slow.” he brushes off his irritation, and hands Oikawa the coffee cup.

“I believe you were dismissed.” Oikawa says without looking at Iwaizumi.

‘Tobio-chan’ adjusts the glasses falling from his nose, as Oikawa stares at the cup with disgust, “I thought I said with a shot of espresso.” he glares at him, “if you can’t even get my order right then what the point of your job as my assistant?” and Kageyama winces.

Iwaizumi stops at the door, breathing deeply, he was going to regret what he was about to, “why do you treat him that way?” he hisses in between his teeth.

They both look up, Oikawa’s glances at him boredly.

“I thought I sai-” Oikawa starts, waving him off but Iwaizumi stands his ground.

“He’s your assistant who’s busting his ass off, and you treat him this way?” he both of their attention now.

“Why so confident now, Iwa-chan?” he asks, standing up. Kageyama moves away, and Iwaizumi glares at him.

“If I impress you with my article, you leave Kageyama alone.” he presses, and Oikawa rubs his knuckles, interested. “...And if I don’t then”

“You’ll see yourself out on the streets with no penny to your name.” Oikawa laughs, smooth and vain.

“Do we have ourselves a deal?” he asks, as Oikawa backs himself close to the desk. Stuck, he holds his gaze, and Oikawa smirks, the smile that you give before you go in for in the kill.

“A deal is what we have, pleasure doing business with you Iwaizumi-san, it may be your last.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Breaking All Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride was something Iwaizumi has always taken for granted, and Oikawa seems to know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gaahh so sorry for being late, I had so many things to do! but there it is! thank you all for all the love and kudos it received from the first chapters, your comments made me laugh and inspired me to hopefully satisfy my readers. well, i tried really hard on the best ending for their story so I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> i really do like this series so if you I'd like to make up for the zero good content and maybe make a sequel?? or even a series revolving Seijoh... enjoy guys!

Iwaizumi never truly understood the phrase ‘news travels fast’ that is, until now. The moment he left the office, he’s given an hour. Then at lunch Kuroo swings by his cubicle, with a sullen pitied smirk. Iwaizumi likes to pretend Kuroo’s not in his peripheral vision and types out a bland outline of consuming words that only swirl on the screen. This plan obviously fails, and he’s met with migraine worthy nagging. Finally, with exact precision, he nails the nearest pencil near his face. It catapults, launching square at Kuroo’s face.

Rubbing his forehead, “ouch that hurts, no need to ruin my precious face.” He complains.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my job.” He rubs his temple, scanning the screen.

Kuroo straightens, “So it’s true. You must really be crazy.”

“He’s an ass who needs to be in his place. It’s not that I don’t respect him, it’s just that..” his voice drops, growing gruff.

Oikawa infuriated him, Iwaizumi wanna rip out his hair. Then why did he bait himself into Oikawa’s games?

All his life, all Iwaizumi has done was work his butt off. For the past three years, he’s done nothing but study. Iwaizumi only focused on the mandatory details that needed to be done, never straying behind, or ahead. School was a bitch, with monstrous teachers and assignments, cunning classmates waiting for the moment where you crumble. Iwaizumi now realizes how much the reward is great. To be sitting at the desk of Seijoh is most likely an opportunity that will never occur again. To say the least, Iwaizumi doesn’t disdain Oikawa(alright maybe a little), he’s rather a real huge thorn in his side. A huge thorn in the way of his career. That part may have been his own doing. Regardless, at this point Iwaizumi was already deep into the threshold, climbing to worm his way out.

Iwaizumi beats the black pen in plated between his fingers against the table, “it’s complicated.”He says, eyes straying into a mindless thought.

Kuroo whistles, “like did you guys, _hook-up_?”

If Iwaizumi’s ears weren’t flush before, they are now. Tinged in beet red, he gazes away from Kuroo’s intent and seemingly deliberate smirk.

Iwaizumi spots Oikawa through the translucent window between the cubicles, chatting with the statistics manager, Ushijima. He looks rather annoyed, flaunts with resentment. He hasn’t met the stoic olive-haired man that supposedly runs the whole Financial department. Next to Ushijima, Oikawa doesn’t stand out as much. Ushijima is more built, rather than Oikawa who’s physique is based curves and lean-not to muscled. While Ushijima stood out in his Tawny striped suit, complementary to black and white spotted tie. The clip holds it down in one grand wrinkle, as he walks the tie stays rigid in its place. His eyebrows drawn into a firm serious line, lips pressed into a tight line. Alas, Iwaizumi’s unable to gather what their saying, but he knows that impatience.

“Ushiwaka-chan, please don’t waste my time.” Oikawa seethes with a quick twist of his wrist.

“I don’t understand why you're doing this.” Ushijima’s voice is heard through the walls, and Kuroo leans toward the commotion, leaving Iwaizumi not so guilty either.

He notices that the space around them acts unmoved by the pugnacious pair, as if it’s normal. Pacing down the office, they finally disappear heading into the elevator.

“Is that normal?” he asks.

Throwing back his head, Kuroo laughs, “normal is an understatement.”

The whole ordeal seemed bizarre, how Oikawa shrugged Ushijima off with a grudge on his shoulders. And Ushijima’s authority ranked nearly superior to Oikawa, yet why was he passive to Oikawa’s attitude? Iwaizumi dares not to testify or question any farther and returns to his work. Currently, this part is slow. The part where he delivers the best article to Oikawa and knocks his socks off. If he may emphasis, it going pretty slow. The whole thinking and brainstorming process takes time, time in which he doesn’t have. But Iwaizumi couldn’t crack under pressure, he’s taken the heat before. Combatted power-hungry journalists his own age for christ sakes, he should be perfectly capable of handling Oikawa. Now that is a lie.

Handling Oikawa Tooru was on the bottom of the list on his journalism career, in fact prior to now it didn’t even exist. He may as well kiss this sweet job good-bye. It was well past noon, and the room grew in excited chatter over lunch break. With his ass glued to the seat, he scours the previous entries. Many of the recent articles are idols spotted in Sendai, a small scandal here or there. Iwaizumi severely doubts that Oikawa is looking for some small run-in that occurs daily. Adjusting the glasses on his nose, he scratches the bridge with a tired sigh. He hasn’t eaten since the speedy instant crappy coffee he chugged on the way to Seijoh, and that was laying at the bottom of his stomach.

Although the thought of buying a Dorayaki from the convenience shop in the lobby that Kuroo had luckily introduced to him does sound appetizing, and his rumbling stomach agrees. Wanting nothing more than a snack, he lets himself slide away from his obscenely large monitor, and goes downstairs to the crowded lobby. Lurking in the back corner is Kuroo fixated and fussing around Kenma whose eyes are pinned to the red Gameboy in front of him. His two-toned bleached hair falling around in curtains over his face. Kuroo waves, as he nods back.

Choosing from the array of snacks turns out too hard. The selection is huge, mochi, bite-sizes chocolates, crepes, the list could go on. So he chooses a selected few that acquire to his attentive taste buds and goes to check out.

“That’ll be 110¥.” the cashier utters out, and he surfs for his wallet, but out the only cash, he had left. Damn, he swore he had more when he bought takeout two nights ago. Frowning, he appears to search for the money in the pockets to look any less foolish.

“Debit please.” A new voice arises, and Iwaizumi stunned spins around.  
His face falls, “what are you doing here?” he says with a prominent scowl. Oikawa’s face lights up, as Iwaizumi slaps down his card.

“I’ve got this covered, take my card please.” Oikawa insists, pushing away Iwaizumi’s credit card, replacing it with a red platinum silver one, all bright and shiny.

“I’m not letting you pay dumbass, it’s ten dollars.” he rolls his eyes, mostly stuffing his own dignity down the drain. The last thing he needed was for Oikawa to know that Iwaizumi’s assets were deeply suffering from his wallet. It was typical, he was the stereotypical fresh-out-of college sort of man, but Oikawa really didn’t need to know that.

“Just let me make it up to you, think of it as a parting gift when you resign from Seijoh.” Oikawa says smugly, stupidly perfect arranged hair not one piece out of place.

He narrows his eyes, “you sound pretty confident for someone who spends their life sitting at a desk looking pretty.”

His smile turns razor sharp, and Iwaizumi immediately regrets the words out his mouth, “that’s cute.” he snickers, as the cashier agitatedly takes Oikawa’s card with his consent and Iwaizumi lets it slip by. Only this time.

Gathering the contents into a miniature grocery bag, they walk out together, much to his chagrin. As if Iwaizumi didn’t deserve enough stares, he was delivered even more when he comes walking out side by side with Seijoh’s CEO. Iwaizumi lags behind only inches behind, as their footsteps grow unmatched. Oikawa’s honey-drenched attitude makes him sick, waving to familiar co-workers, stopping by to give a couple encouraging words. Honestly, Oikawa was the perfect boss, all sharp and angles; midst his personality whole-heartedly was crappy, he meant well. Even Iwaizumi could see that Oikawa charmed his way with his employees.

“What’s cute?” he asks, finally catching up to Oikawa’s long strides.

“How you think I’m pretty. I’d hate to be a spoilsport but you’re really not my type.” he bats his eyelashes, and Oikawa wonders how pretty he’d look with a swelling purple eye.

“You really just know the right words to say, if you want to get your ass kicked.” he snarls, and Oikawa only tilts his head, leaning in close.

There it is again, that insane hunger. Oikawa stares at him with all intensity in his eyes, Iwaizumi despises the look, though it almost sends him plummeting to his knees. But he was like that, easily gullible and malleable like putty at the drop of the hat. Intimidation had to no effect on Iwaizumi, as he glared right back at him. The brunette’s eyes slide sultry and his eyelids lower into slits. If Iwaizumi didn’t know any better than he’d be entranced by Oikawa, instead he breaks their eye contact, indifferent.

“I might let you if you say please,” he whispers, and Iwaizumi gapes his mouth, flabbergasted and shocked. That deems to satisfy Oikawa as the man waves goodbye.

Right now, Iwaizumi didn’t know if he really wanted to kick his ass or kiss the living fuck out the guy. The last thing he needed was a distraction, right now he should be worrying about his article. The article that’s going to put Oikawa Tooru into his place. That is if he can even write a word yet.

Slumping down across from Kuroo, he thumps his head to the table with a loud _smack!_ Kuroo glances up from the yakitori that’s reeking of meaty grease from the white foam container. In Kenma’s hand is an unaccompanied spoonful of vanilla pudding as he’s clearly too busy with the drawing pen in the other dominant hand. With ruefulness, Kuroo only sneers at his patheticness. If he saw himself right now, he would laugh.

“I take it you guys talked?” he says, and Iwaizumi rips into one of the many Dorayaki that he let Oikawa buy.

 _I might let_ you _if you say please._

He swallows, the red bean paste like gum in his throat, “something like that.”

 

  
After that, he doesn’t sleep, starting from the 120 hours that lead up until Thursday, Iwaizumi gets maximum of maybe five hours of sleep. He spends hours on an empty screen that only causes him to force himself to wear his glasses, as much as he hates wearing them. Occasionally, Kuroo forces him out of his cubicle to grab a bite to eat relatively close by Seijoh, and other times drops off snacks. Either way, he’s grateful for his contribution towards the ginormous problem that Iwaizumi got himself into in the first place. With a day left, he’s struck with defeat. God he felt so repulsed, he clearly overestimated his capability. And to glorify his possible remaining days at the office, Oikawa frivolously forgets to visit Iwaizumi at his office at every point of the day.

In some other universe, may have they been friends then Iwaizumi would’ve found this gesture heartwarming, rather downright fucking annoying. He knocks on the glass, leaning on the edge that separates the neighboring cubicle. His hair per usual is cut to it’s coiffed perfection, curling over his eyes. In his pinstriped blue tie, resting below the satin multi-dollar dress shirt, he looks strangely casual. No suit jacket, a small belt looped around his waist. The excessive amount of foundation to cover the seven freckles along his cheekbone now visible, and minimal bags underneath his eyes. He looked like Iwaizumi; a mess. And somehow, he managed to cover it up, still looking like a model. Though his smile is a bit less genuine and a bit more forced, Iwaizumi sighs and turns around.

“Iwa-chan, have you been getting any sleep?” Oikawa asks, nodding to the identical black bags sporting beneath his eyes.

“Now’s really not the time, Oikawa-san.” He mutters, hands shaking from the stillness his hands have been in front of the computer screen. Clearly, Oikawa is unable to comprehend the innuendo and only leans in closer, swinging around to the head of his screen.

An ever so bright smile placed on his face, he attempts to get Iwaizumi ’s attention. Taking a deep breath, ridding of all negative, and all gruesome ideas of how to smother his boss and get away with it, he looks up, “can I help you then?” He grinds out his teeth, sucking in his breath.

“You can actually, by getting out that miserable and uncomfortable chair and go out and get lunch with me.” He says brightly and Iwaizumi has to blink a few times before understanding what Oikawa just said.

“No.” Iwaizumi replies.

“Why not, come on let your boss treat you.” He nudges him with a wink that only sends him backing away an inch.

Rubbing his temples, “I have work to do, go bother someone else.” He adds, hoping it’ll send him away for good.

“Sugawara’s in a meeting, probably banging to it with Sawamura, Kuroo’s in a photoshoot, Kenma- well he disappeared on me the moment he saw me, and well I saw that you weren’t busy.” and he shrugs nonchalantly, as if Iwaizumi hasn’t been sitting at his desk for the past four hours.

“I’m busy, very busy Oikawa-san,” he says, clicking away at the computer.

“But I don’t see any work being done.” the brunette’s voice teasing, and he’s right, there’s not a word on the screen.

“It’s called brainstorming, and don’t you have boss things to do?” Iwaizumi says exasperated, and he gleefully shakes his head.

“Besides firing you, I’m free.” and thank god for the sudden buzz in Oikawa’s pocket as he seems displeased to be interrupted. He starts backpedaling away from his cubicle talking slowly to the phone.

“Tomorrow is Seijoh’s welcoming party, your article will be presented there tomorrow night, dress semi-formal,” Oikawa says, before never looking back.

It’s tomorrow night, meaning he has under 48 hours to come up with the best article to present to _all_ of Seijoh or he’d be fired. This wasn’t good, not at all. So far, Oikawa was winning, and Iwaizumi was failing miserably. And the thing is that he what exactly could Iwaizumi write that would the charismatic CEO? Oikawa knew everything, he has everything: the money, fortune, the invested million dollar company. No matter how far ahead he could be, Oikawa is always one step ahead of him. In the past, many scandals have been brought to light about himself, his sexuality, family, there ought to a story hidden there. And the only person would most likely know about it the best.

Once he manages to leave the office, late again, Iwaizumi finds who he’s looking for, sitting in the corner, a whiskey at his side. He approaches him, Ushijima sits properly, legs crossed against the back of the chair. His silver jacket discarded on the top peg of the wooden chair.

“Ushijima-san, I have a few questions,” he asks, and the big man looks up dully, and only nods. He knew he was only a man of a few words as with a small squeak he pulls back the identical chair across from him and sits.

“Is Seijoh what you imagined?” Ushijima asks suddenly, catching Iwaizumi off guard.

Then he thinks of the people, their dedication to making sure Seijoh runs smoothly, his first and possibly final days with Oikawa Tooru, a monster wrapped in a god’s clothing. Before he can reply, he finally understands it now. He smiles, “yes, it’s everything I imagined sir.”

Content Ushijima only irks a small nod, “self-preservation and pride can only get you so far here at Seijoh, Oikawa would know the best.”

His eyes lighten, “Ushijima-san, did you and Oikawa..?” he trails off awkwardly, not wanting to mislead, but Ushijima understands.

“Only in our first year of college, after Oikawa’s father resigned, he was forced from his studies to take over Seijoh.” oddly, that doesn’t sound hypothetically correct, according to the interview two-years ago on the local news, Oikawa’s father had given him the company on his twentieth birthday. but something is digging into his heart, it's jealousy.

“That must’ve been hard, especially at a young age.” Iwaizumi quizzically comments.

“His father had been going in and out rehab, Oikawa was waiting for him to resign.” Ushijima takes a sip out his cup, filling the void with silence.

But the process to retain all the information in his moment, he could feed off of that, it was a good start. He almost pities Oikawa, obviously, his father was a jackass, and he wishes he could hear the story from him but this how he had to keep his job, and Oikawa would regret ever trying to cross with Iwaizumi.

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima calls out to him, as his chair scrapes the floor. Light hazel eyes keen and bland stare at him, “Oikawa’s brilliant and he’ll try to crawl onto your skin, but I’ve been watching you handle him. Don’t fall for his antics, stray away or your regret it. I made the same mistake years ago, Oikawa Tooru is not someone you want to play with.”

Bowing, “thank you, I’ll do my best.” and the corners of his lips peak forming into a small smile.

“I count on it.”

The next morning, he arrives late but no one notices, because they're all racing to get the gala room for the evening. Luckily, nobody cares when he subtly slips to his desk, and there it is on Seijoh, his article. He felt his heart pound from his chest every time they walked by, why he so nervous? He deserved this, Iwaizumi wasn’t scared for his job or Oikawa, yet why did he fear that he made a horrible decision. Taking a deep breath, he spots Oikawa leading a group of designers, handful of streamers and other decors heavy in their hands. He looks more dressed up, humming along the way.

He was definitely avoiding him. Or it was the other way around, their eyes meet, and Iwaizumi forces himself to look the opposite direction. The headache knocks against his temple, and he sneaks a quick look. He was in trouble, and there was no way getting out of this one.

The hours that lead up to the party, Iwaizumi is a complete mess, he stumbles over his papers, important documents. He spills his coffee at least twice, and almost breaks his glasses from sitting on them. He has to leave the office at least ten times to go and take a smoke. He’d been trying to quit smoking but the anxiety slithers into his mind. Oikawa was swarming his head all day along, his annoying high-pitch laugh, not the fake one he uses for snakes and Ushijima. The way his eyes pinch together, and how liquid his voice turns when he talks to him. He’s constantly staring at his lips, he groans, fuck.

Did he actually like him? Oikawa Tooru, his boss, the one who’s made his life miserable? Who treats his assistant like crap? That gaudy pompous guy? He was so screwed. “You alright man?” Kuroo slaps his back, looking apprehensive.

Recoiling, he jumps in his seat, “I’m fine just a little troubled.” Kuroo pulls up a stool hanging from the sides, as he prompts him to elaborate, “if you were supposed to hate your sworn enemy who’s trash, and is a total asshole but kinda hot, but then you to fall for him what would you do?” he asks in a jumble, cheeks turning hot.

Kuroo barks out a laugh, “that’s oddly specific.”

“Just answer the question.” he hisses.

“Well confess, let him know I like the guy, not too crazy. And if he rejects you, then well, move on.”

The only problem is that he couldn't move on, he’s already a well large part in his everyday life, he sees Oikawa at work for over eight hours each day, and now whenever he gets a glimpse of him he turns to a blushing mess. What was he twelve? This wasn’t schoolgirl crush, and Iwaizumi knows that. He wanted to clock his head on the door so badly, but he only nods, as Kuroo wishing good luck.

He goes home to get dressed, having a prepared suit waiting for him in his closet, he rarely wears, the last time for his cousin's wedding. It was simple, black and white with a bow tie attached to the collar. The slacks are shorter, having worn the suit years ago, only reaching a little below his ankles. They're tighter around his calves, he cleans up his hair, hoping the best for his eyebags to go away. Iwaizumi may have had a plan, he just hopes that it works.

There’s no limo, nothing fancy to come and transport him back to the office, so takes a cab, for five dollars that only takes less than ten minutes walking. Iwaizumi’s been making a lot of bad choices lately, and he can only think of this one and how it will add up. Arriving, the lights along the streets are lit. limos begin to pull up as he pays for the stupid cab. Photographers all lined up along the red carpet to get the best angle. Pantsuits being traded for sparkling cocktail dress, and vest is no visible beneath black suit jackets similar to what he’s wearing. Flashes of the camera are thrown their way, as one notices Iwaizumi.

“You’re the one who released the latest article on Seijoh’s boss, you must really have some nerve? Is there anything you have to say?” they shout, shoving a microphone to his face.

“Uhh--” he says, caught in the light.

“He’ll be answering no questions tonight.” someone interrupts pulling him along. Kageyama’s casual wear exchanged for an open suit, the color of forest green, blending with his dark icy eyes. One look and Iwaizumi knows it already.

“Oikawa-san is coming, you should be inside with the guests,” he instructs.

“Thank you.” he says, and Kageyama cues for him to leave.

Inside the dining hall where the ceremony is taking place is huge, chandeliers hang from every corner, the bartender’s busy at the counter. The part is calm, classical music playing on the overhead speakers. The jitters don’t go away when he finds Kuroo, as he flashes him a smile. From the distance, a new limo pulls up and it’s Oikawa’s. Kageyama rushes to meet him as the car door slides open, revealing the man himself. His velvet suit the color of crimson, hair swept parted to one side. His eyes heavy, as he waves a smile to the cameras. His heart skips a beat, he looked amazing. What the hell was he doing? Standing around here, Iwaizumi finds his table. When they enter the room, it goes silent.

Then they all start clapping, including him, as he grins, taking a bow, “you may resume, thank you all for coming.” he announces.

The party resumes, as Oikawa clings to Ushijima’s side, smiling carefree with his guests. Suga waves to him, and Iwaizumi waves back. Oikawa is the center of attention, the gleaming star in the sky.

When food is served, and Iwaizumi isn’t hungry, he only plays with the glass of wine in his hand. The world is moving too fast around him and Iwaizumi can’t catch up. Oikawa sends a few glares down his direction which he gladly ignores. Definitely now he’s avoiding him. Soon it settles down, and everyone takes their seats. Oikawa stands on the podium, once again welcoming all. Throughout, all Iwaizumi can do is pray.

“And now, I’d like to welcome on the stage Iwaizumi Hajime.” he holds his breath, as all eyes are placed upon him.

Oikawa’s expression icy, and incredibly good-looking as he challenges him. Kuroo nudges him, as he stiffly takes the stand. This wasn’t the plan, did Ushijima know this, he eyes the man as he stays silent. So this is how Iwaizumi leaves, getting embarrassed in front of all of them. He really was an asshole.

He takes the mic, “Honestly, I have no words to show how grateful I am. Being here, it’s changed my life in the past week I’ve gotten to know so many people. I’ve learned a lot from the days working here. In college, they say that it only prepares you for the real world, and they were right. I wanted to thank them all for helping me, and getting me situated.” a small murmur of smiles and happy sighs spread across the room, but he wasn’t done yet. “I’d also like to thank Oikawa for teaching about scandals, and the many things to enjoy in life, I think I may have finally found it.”

Oikawa is shocked, and surprised more than anything, as he steps forward Iwaizumi’s calm. Iwaizumi grabs the lapels of his suit, clutching him close. Here he could see everything in his eyes, the stars, the pride that both of them are so guilty of. The tradition of his horrible personality ridden in his eyes. Maybe he’s finally broken him to see who he really is.

And they’re kissing, the moment where the whole crowd is quiet. Kissing Oikawa, is what he’s waited for. His lips are soft, smelling and tasting like pomegranate from the wine that sits at his table. At first, Oikawa is still. And it drives Iwaizumi nuts as his lips delicately hover his. But then he breaks, as he gently kisses him back. His hands rummage through the lapels, sliding up to grab his jaw. He’s desperate, grasping for more. Their movements less eager, but equally passionate. He closes his eyes, wanting to savor the moment forever.

“I win.” he whispers, breaking apart.

And the crowd explodes, applauds that tremor in his ear, hoots and silent grins that approve. The article doesn’t matter anymore, nothing matters to him anymore. Nothing but the person in front of him. He swore that he heard Kuroo hoot ‘get a room you guys!’ and rolls his eyes. Hesitantly, his eyes wander to meet Ushijima, who gives that same half-assed smile, at least it’s something.

“Iwa-chan, you’re an idiot,” Oikawa mumbles from his shoulder, clearly embarrassed.

But he’s smiling, that wide real beautiful smile that Iwaizumi fell in love with in the first place, and that’s all that matters.

_I win._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please guys! tell me what you think? your opinions? comments? thank you!


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